Truth In A Raindrop

The Truth In A Raindrop

You know I wonder sometimes, I really do. They want me to write the truth. However, what is the truth? That's what I wonder about.

So here I sit on the bench, the pouring rain making the dark city lights fade into the black. The little roof above me does very little to prevent me from getting wet, but I'm OK with it. It's just water right?

Or is it? I wonder again. Where do truth and imagination connect? Where is it that they meet?

Is this rain which falls upon me? Or Perhaps each small drop, with a life span only moments long, is another world. So it is not rain, but imagination.

Each reflection of me is not a reflection of me, but someone who has but the same appearance.

Another world where I made different choices but still end up in the same position. Are my emotions different? I don't know, I've never been to that world, I couldn't tell you what happens in it.

What is truth? Every writer I know fights for the opportunity to write truth, whether they know it or not. Each story is a rain drop, another world, it has to splash eventually which makes smaller worlds.

I sit in the rain wondering many things. Life is so fickle, seemingly useless. Can't say that I've ever been much of a fan of reality. So I write, I write my raindrops, each one falling down from that sky of inspiration, each little drop making such an impact on me, washing away the boring reality, covering me in a different world.

Perhaps the world is full of the action and adventure that I so desperately wish to be a part of. Or maybe this world is a story, a story of another life, doesn't have to be action packed, its another world, it can be anything.

Ha! Here I ponder the truth. The truth of what exactly? What about the truth of writing? Maybe it's just me but writing shows us the truth. Fiction, non-fiction, its all truth. What about poems? Yes, they are the truth as well.

They are the truth of imagination. Regardless of whether you understand what that means it still seems to hold true. Why do we write? WE do not write boring reality, even if it is a realistic story we do not write of our average everyday events. We write of the great things. The great things that many of us ourselves wish to be a part of but will never be.

Now whether or not you think you want to be a part of what you write matters little. Because the fact is that regardless what you think when you write you place a small piece of yourself into words. One just cannot create a character in a world without losing that small piece of themselves, whether they want to lose that piece or not doesn't matter either. If you haven't noticed not many things you think seem to matter.

But I digress, the thought process is interesting, no?

Well back to the question, what is truth? Truth is imagination. Just as the raindrops that fall from the clouds. Each bit of imagination is the truth you make it. The imagination we put into the stories we create that help us escape the terribly dull world of reality.